The Lamentation of Luna Lovegood
by seghen
Summary: She was always strange and not even she could deny that. Perhaps she was the most unlikely candidate to act a pivotal part in saving the world but she had something that fueled her. Hatred. Rage. Grief. And most importantly, love.
1. The Letter

**writing mood**

She was never one to cry. She did not find tears and emotions to be weakness, on the contrary she believed that, like Dumbledore, the ability to feel and love was what made humans human after all. She hardly thought anyone to be a lesser person if they broke down and sobbed for good reason. But she was usually so dotty, yet oddly composed that seeing her in such a state of disarray was almost indecent.

But there she was, on the ground of the common room, hands clenched tightly into fists, knuckles white, bawling like a child. The tears streamed down her ivory cheeks rapidly, quickly replaced by new ones when they would evaporate. She did not bother herself with wiping them from her face.

The Ravenclaws gathered around her like carnivores to bleeding prey, though they were more curious than murderous. She had a tendency of rapidly changing her mood, though she was rarely sulky. If anyone had the right to be sulky, it was her. She was teased to no end, her possessions hidden and cursed with eyebrows that constantly seemed to be in a state of shock. But she held her head up high, ignored the statements or simply did not comprehend them due to the fact that she had her nose buried in the newest edition of The Quibbler.

She let out a wail of despair that pierced the still silence of the common room after midnight and seemed to taint it. If screams could bleed, hers would run red.

No one attempted to comfort her. They were too shocked by this sudden outburst to do so, though very few of them would dare sully their reputation by pitying the Lovegood girl.

She was loony, batty and rather odd, though kind. She was not easily upset though she would issue a harsh reprimand to anyone who slighted The Quibbler, for her father was the editor, but normally she was a subdued girl. She had friends, not many but enough to keep her satisfied. Harry, Ron and Hermione had never returned after Dumbledore's murder. It was rumored that they were attempting revenge on Snape and the Dark Lord's followers. She did not know whether or not this was fact or fiction and she was not particularly interested.

She still had Ginny, the girl who would fight off all of those who dared tease her for her Butterbeer caps necklace. Ginny was not a force to be reckoned with, especially after Harry's disappearance. She issued more Bat Bogey curses than could be counted, especially if someone dared slight her love.

The awake Ravenclaws, and there were many of them, seeing as it was a week before N.E.W.T.S, formed a circle around her and closed every gap, just observing her slack-jawed. She suddenly did not seem entirely strange, they did not look upon her with a quirked eyebrow and a snide remark for they saw the girl beneath the radish earrings. She was human and her cries were painful.

Her throat hurt, but she did not care. She wanted to lash out at the bystanders, knock them off of their feet and scream at them for just standing there, eyes wide and stupid-looking. She wanted to cry until she dehydrated and died, nothing left but a withered corpse and memories of better days. But it did not matter what she wanted. Nothing mattered anymore.

He was dead.

They did not even have the decency to tell her in person, to quietly usher her out of the common room and break the news to her slowly and tactfully. No, they sent her and _owl, _a bloody owl!

The parchment was still wrinkled inside her sweaty palm as she pounded the carpeting with her fists. She read it four times before she was sure that she wasn't unprecedentedly attacked by a swarm of Dutch Verwarrings. Her father had just printed a special edition Quibbler on them four months ago.

She would have preferred the Verwarrings to this reality. But after balancing a quill on her nose and standing on one foot she was certain that she was not simply victim to a Verwarring attack. The parchment was not lying.

For a full three minutes and nineteen seconds everyone just stood there, unmoving, until a small second year piped in and declared that they should call in Professor Flitwick. Within the blink of an eye he was there, attempting to comfort the inconsolable Luna.

In the end he had to wrench the slip of paper from her hand forcefully before reading it. He paled and reread the sheet once again, hoping that the slightly runny ink was distorting the message.

No such luck.

"Oh, dear. Miss Lovegood?" He looked down at her nervously, biting his fingernails before dropping the note. "Come here, we'll take you to the Headmistress's chambers. I'm quite sure that we can spare you for a few days." His voice was panicked and shrill, causing general confusion and worry amongst the students as their small head of house briskly rushed Luna out of the room.

A brave first year picked up the parchment and gasped slightly. "Who's Neville Longbottom?" He asked in a thick cockney accent.

A tall brunette was the first to answer. "Loony's _boyfriend._" She snickered slightly, puckering her thin lips.

The first year turned a revolting shade of puce before handing the paper to a student beside him, who took the liberty of reading it aloud.

"_Dear Miss Luna Aysel Lovegood,_

_We sincerely regret to inform you that a Mister Neville Frances Longbottom has passed away at the hour of eleven and thirty-seven minutes. It was his wish that we contact you._

_Our sincerest condolences,_

_The Ministry of Magic officials_

"There's some loopy signatures at the bottom, but I can't quite read them." The student said, squinting in a lame attempt to decipher the names at the base of the sheet.

No one spoke.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Miss Lovegood, it is my direction to escort you back to your homestead with your father. The Ministry of Magic informed us of Mr. Longbottom's..._unfortunate _situation moments after yourself." McGonagall eyes were quite red, though their puffiness did not so much as rival Luna's.

"_Unfortunate situation? _You make it sound like he was simply victim of the Venomous Barbles! Neville is...he's...well..." She let out an embittered sob as she resolved to burying her head into her tearstained robes.

McGonagall attempted to compose herself. "Of course it comes off as a bit cruel, Lovegood. You and I know how the Ministry can handle these circumstances." Luna was unsure whether she simply imagined it but she was almost positive that her professor sounded incredibly morose at this point in time.

"He wasn't supposed to die, Professor." Luna, in a lapse of memory, had forgotten that McGonagall was now the Headmistress. The _Headmistress _did not seem to take notice. "And if it is the last thing I do I will revenge him." In all the years that the transfiguration teacher had taught Luna, she had never heard her sound more lucid nor serious.

She was unsure whether or not her decision was influenced by either grief or simply the fact that she had the utmost faith that Luna was the most likely candidate to do the operation that she and Dumbledore had been planning for near three years before his passing, after Sirius Black's infamous escape from Hogwarts. She agreed with the Headmaster that hate and anger could only fuel someone for a brief stint of time, and this knowledge made her second guess her decision. But, even more powerful than grief and hatred, was love. And that could, forgive the hackneyed expression, move mountains.

"There is something that can be done." Little did McGonagall know that this mere sentence would change the course of history and, ultimately, the world.

**it started off as a oneshot but then i decided that i need to start a new long story, so i did! havent read many luna-centered stories, and i decided to start one myself**


	2. The Funeral

**I finished When It's Over? I dunno, I LOVED my ending, though I didn't even expect it...you know how when you write and you kinda have completely no control over what you write? Haha, maybe I'm psycho...I'm makin' a third Seeing What Should Not Be Seen, though perhaps I'll change the title up a bit, it's a tad long.**

**THANK YOUS to Taintless, JadedNihilist (for reviewing and being my beta) and Officer 1BDI! I LOVE Y'ALL!**

The funeral was simply a formality, a necessary evil that Luna felt obliged to attend. She could not stand the looks, the whispers, and the pitying talk. She preferred being teased to this misery.

It seemed that everyone was there, but she could care less. Hermione, Ron and Harry took time off from their exceedingly busy schedules to return to Hogwarts for the funeral, but for the first time in her life she was not interested in any of them. She suffered through the eulogies, the tears, the fierce handshakes and tight embraces. She went through the motions, though she rarely spoke.

Mrs. Longbottom approached her after the service; the hideous hat that was her trademark perched on her head, though the bird was black for mourning. "Oh, Luna!" Without any warning she threw her arms around the poor, delicate looking girl, sobbing to no end into her cheap black robes. "It's...it's just so...so hard. My little Neville, never had his father's talent, but he had his own way." She stifled a gasp, lifting her great head from out of the crook of her almost granddaughter-inlaw's shoulder.

"I'll miss him too," She replied quietly, looking up at her with a small smile. The tears were gone and Luna doubted that they would return any time soon. She had not cried since the

eve she received the hideously tactless greeting card, which she could recite word for word by now. She turned from the woman after stating some incredibly touching words and patting her gingerly on the shoulder.

As she walked away she murmured, "Don't worry. It's far from over." And she stalked into the freshly grown green

grass.

The weather seemed to mock them terribly, haunting her with its vibrant blue skies and beautiful sunshine. She felt overheated in her robes but refused to unbutton them out of respect. This was her last day of serenity, of normalcy. This was the last day that she could mourn like

a child who had just lost a great love, one more day before she had to grow up.

When Neville had died her innocence had died with him. She would always be "Loony Lovegood," but perhaps there was something in her that would never return.

Her long blond hair flowed, unrestrained, into the sky, dancing with the warm wind. She could smell the freshly mowed grass, not the stench of death that most would have anticipated. She was never one for any of that. Her life motto was, "Forever an optimist."

She was wandless, she knew that in these times such a decision was slightly ridiculous, being unprotected in a graveyard while traveling on her own through the graves peacefully. She refused to besmirch this day of agony and rest with arming herself. She trusted that the fates would be kind enough to grant her amnesty for today.

She did not know where she was headed, but she knew that she could not go back to the swarms of people mourning him. It was too painful, and she needed to stay strong. She had to be strong for him, for herself. Neville would have never wanted her to wither and die without him, nor would he have wanted her to risk her own life for vengeance.

'You don't always get what you want,' she thought. She couldn't help but think, leaning over and picking a wilting flower and investigating it, making sure that it was not infested with nargles, as those types of plants, including mistletoe, often were.

"Luna!" She had anticipated this. Someone had followed her, intruded on her unpleasant walk. How rude of them.

She turned around slowly, in no rush to hear any more apologies. She was mourning widow, though they never married, nor were they even engaged. That did not ease her pain whatsoever. The person behind her seemed to deem this silence as an acceptable response and continued to speak.

"I missed you at the service." It took Luna a while to identify the woman before her, doubled over with a cramp, wheezing. She had a long scar tracing past her left eye, apparently having pierced the cornea for the eye seemed to be utterly useless. Her hair was cropped to her neck, and wearing black robes, proper for mourning. Hermione?

"I just left. Rather stuffy," She stated dully staring over her shoulder and into space. This was not wholly unexpected from Hermoine.

Hermione did not bother with apologies or condolences; she just spoke to Luna as an equal. This was a strange occurrence indeed. She mused with a vague smile. "Ron, Harry and I just returned after we...heard. How has school been going?" She seemed determined to avoid the subject that was evidently on her mind.

"N.E.W.T.s, and a summer fever caused by Yuracs, the usual. But somehow I have the impression that you did not just chase me over here to inquire after my schooling, seeing as you had dropped out." Hermione had the grace to blush. Luna was rather brilliant at speaking uncomfortable truths.

"You're quite right, Luna. I just didn't want to upset you." Luna did not seem upset, though. If anything she looked as strange and distant as ever. "We miss him too, of course not nearly as much as you must. The person responsible will pay for this." Hermione seemed more bitter than Luna had ever seen her, and this did incur a bit of curiosity.

"Oh, I know," She responded, looking down at the grass with sudden interest. "Do you mind? I would just like a few moments to marvel at all of this." It was not complete fable. She did want to, in a way, smell the roses for the last time, figuratively and literally. She did not want to talk about him. Not yet. She

was not sure that she would ever want to.

Hermione nodded curtly before turning around and back towards the funeral. Luna called after her retreating figure, "Tell Ronald and Harry that I say 'hello'," before turning back to the task at hand.

Everything seemed to be put into perspective: death, life, and pain were all relative terms. Who is to determine the breaking point? Who is it that truly can decide any of that? And who was it that took Neville's, _her_ Neville's life?

She knew that it must have been dreadful, there must have been blood or some type of gore, for the Ministry refused her request to see the body and he was buried with a closed casket. Even McGonagall, who seemed rather satisfied in releasing the information to her, was extremely hesitant in revealing the particulars of his demise.

"Not that it really matters anyway," She said aloud glancing over her shoulder hastily before kneeling to the ground. The dew was absorbed through her robes and onto her skin, and despite the warmness in the air it was chilling her to the bone.

She blinked back tears, feeling them resurface as she glanced up into the sky. Neville had never been a romantic; he had been a klutzy and lovable boyfriend who was nothing but good to her. She loved him more than she had ever thought that she could love anyone else.

Theirs was the kind of love recited in old fairy tales and epic love stories that touch all ages, a love so pure and chaste that they never felt the need to consummate their relationship before marriage. They were not driven by their hormones, but by something deeper. This connection made it all the more painful to lose him.

She had awoken at sunrise this morning, when the dawn was stained in vibrant purples and reds. The funeral began only hours later. She fell asleep at sunset, reveling in the poetics. It was far too beautiful to be a day to commemorate the death of her love. No one came searching for her after Hermione, and she enjoyed the peace.

She did not know how far she traveled, only that she had been asleep on Melinda Warren's grave as the sun sank into the west most part of the sky, enveloping the world in darkness.

It must have been after midnight when she felt someone seize her by the shoulders and shake her ruggedly. "It's time." She knew the meaning of their words and, without consent, side-long apparated them to the safest location.

When they arrived she was unsurprised to find McGonagall standing beside her, a look of the utmost severity plastered on her face. "Are you sure that you want to do this?" Ridiculous question, let's move on. "There is still time to change your mind." Try again next time. Seeing that her attempts were ill in effect, the Professor became desperate. "Someone else, anyone else, is perfectly capa-" Luna could not think of this and raised a shaky hand in refusal, her usually vacant

eyes sharp and clear.

"No. This is mine. This is my justice."

'Revenge,' a voice in her head could not help but point out.

'Is there a difference?' That was what she was going to figure out.

**Okay, kudos to anyone who found a Charmed reference in this little chappie!**


	3. Missing In Action

**somewhat revised**

Some tried in vain to discover the whereabouts of the mourning Luna Lovegood. Her father did an entire spread on her disappearance, mentioning it monthly with growing worry and declining hope. The general belief was not a good one; the public opinion displayed her as already dead, either a victim of You-Know-Who or just a brokenhearted young-woman who saw no way out and took her own life.

She was not suicidal, of course, but the public opinion often steered her persona towards that sort of self-violence. She was odd and unusually detached and chipper in a way that none could quite grasp, so they pinned it all on insanity. Luna did not keep up with the articles or the rumors; she saw no reason to do so. All of that meant little then and absolutely nothing now.

She found the use of magic for physical enhancements and concealment to be utterly and entirely preposterous. Too long without updating said spells could result in a blotchy sort of half-regular half-improved look which would not be what was desired. She preferred the Muggle way of doing these sorts of things, no matter how greatly her own kin frowned upon such normalcy. Sometimes she could be so abnormal that only average actions would do.

"Your name appeared in the obituaries today." McGonagall was a grim woman, her glasses pushed down to the very bottom of her narrow nose. Luna glanced up in surprise, apparently dazed.

"They haven't found my body, have they?" The complete seriousness that followed that question was to be marveled at. Her teacher's lips curled into a straight, thin line but she said nothing more, only shaking her head.

"Why did they report me as dead, I'm not a corpse." Stating the obvious.

McGonagall seemed to think very deeply for a moment before raising a shriveled, bony finger to her lips. "They had reason to believe that a body found is yours, there was a Dark Mark overhead and no one else has been reported substantially missing for the extent that you have."

Her wide, doe eyes seemed to glaze over as she inadvertently spoke.

"The search has come to a stand-still, there will be little doubt now. Is it almost done?" Her professor and near mentor seemed to take all of this into consideration before shaking her head.

"We should wait for a little longer, it won't hurt if we can just hold this all off. Just a little longer, and it will all be sorted out." She sounded indifferent, but Luna knew better. She observed the signs, the torn cuticles, her fingernails bitten down to the quick, and her darting, slightly bloodshot eyes. McGonagall was just as terrified as she was, and it gave her a sort a comfort to know that she was not alone, never

alone.

Luna never depended on the opinions of others to fuel herself, she knew exactly who she was and was not afraid to express herself in whatever means was necessary. She was an independent spirit, capable of functioning without the support of her peers and often with ridicule. But it felt good to have someone, to have a purpose and to know exactly what it was that she needed to do.

"If you are entirely certain that this is what you want to do, that all this is where you want to go, we're going to have to get to work." There was an unsaid though heavily implied question buried shallowly inside that waffle. Luna did not even need to identify it, for McGonagall continued. "Are you sure that this is what you want to do?"

Luna turned her eyes of her guide with a sort of certainty that she had never seen. "Do Hornswallowers burrow inside the hibiscus plant?"

Professor McGonagall, or moreover ex-Professor McGonagall made a funny, half-squeaking sound that she was unable to conceal. With a stiff, cold, supposedly encouraging pat on Luna's shoulder she spoke. "I'll take that as a yes, Miss Lovegood."

**Kind of short, but hey, I got it up!**


End file.
